


Scars We Wear

by lemoncellbros



Series: The Witcher [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Scar reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24873595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: After diving into a swamp after Geralt, Jaskier is forced to remove his breeches and tunic to let them dry and to avoid hypothermia. Only, there's secrets he's hiding under those layers... What will Geralt think of him when he finds out?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799803
Comments: 9
Kudos: 349





	Scars We Wear

**Author's Note:**

> OK this might be absolute garbage...this is my first geralt/jaskier fic - please be gentle :)

It had all started out quite simply; Jaskier was to follow Geralt (at a safe distance) while he took care of Drowner occupying a swamp a bit too close to the main village. The risk to Jaskier was as low as it ever could’ve been, and he’d been whining and complaining to Geralt that he needed to see the action and memorize the details if his ballads were to be completely accurate. So, Geralt allowed him to trail behind and observe what should’ve been an easy and unimpressive takedown.

However, that did not end up being the case. From the moment they left to when they returned, this expedition was a complete fucking disaster. For one, while Jaskier had packed his notes and various healing salves, he completely neglected the spare changes of clothes he was meant to bring in case of submersion in nasty, nasty swamp water. Not only that, but Geralt was in a particularly pissy mood that was affecting everyone who encountered him, foreshadowing the terrible day to come.

Nevertheless, Geralt, Roach, and Jaskier took to the forests around them in search of their Drowner fiend. Jaskier attempted to play some melodies to cheer up his travel mate, plucking popular songs and urging him to sing along, even though Jaskier knew he wouldn’t. But he kept playing jovially, new and old songs that he would recite their lyrics on blast just to revel in the music he made. And from where Geralt was sitting, one might say he was reveling in song himself, a soft smile, hidden from Jaskier, on his face.

The sound of Roach’s hoof hitting marsh and mud brought an abrupt end to the music and movement produced by the group. This meeting of muddied waters and solid land marked the boundary that Jaskier was forbidden to cross, which he again did not agree with but there was no point in arguing with Geralt.

Dismounting from Roach and tying her to a nearby tree, Geralt calls out to Jaskier, “I should only be a minute. Do not move a muscle. If you do cross that line, I’ll leave you to perish.” Jaskier would’ve been worried had Geralt’s eyes not betrayed mischief. 

Watching Geralt draw his sword and slowly make his descent into the murky swamp was an exercise of patience for Jaskier. Being the mother hen he is, he fluttered around pulling out medical remedies, bandages, etc., anything that Geralt might need when he returns, and waits. He tried fiddling with his lute to calm his nerves, but to no avail. There was something about this that made him uneasy and keen to stand at the edge of the swamp and scan for Geralt.

Suddenly, the water surface breaks and reveals Geralt gasping for air and a Drowner being a right bastard about the whole situation. Geralt looked quite pale, and he couldn’t seem to get all the air he needed, especially given that he was still in the process of wrestling Drowner. This leaves Jaskier, once again, fluttering about in a panic and trying to think of some solution, because it was really looking like the Drowner might be winning at this point and he could NOT let that happen.

And, because Jaskier is the CEO of decision making, he decides to grab a dagger and dive right into the god forsaken swamp to make a beeline to Geralt. 

“Geralt, you big oaf, I’m here to help!” 

A grunt. “Get out of the water, Bard. You’ll freeze, granted you’re not eviscerated first. Get out, Jaskier!”

He quickly thrust the dagger to Geralt and, despite the urge to stay out of pure spite and stubbornness, Jaskier began swimming and trudging to shore. Once he reached it, he turned to see Geralt deliver a killing blow to the Drowner, both men sporting a secret, relieved smile that the other was okay. Not that they’d ever admit it, though.

The first thing Geralt did when his feet met solid ground was begin stripping his heavy, soaked armour and clothing, all while Jaskier was blushing and facing the other way. As much as he was a romantic, Jaskier lacked confidence when it came to someone that he had genuine feelings for. A one night stand? Jaskier is Mr. Charisma. Geralt? Jaskier is a bumbling bard who can’t form a coherent thought.

“Strip, Jaskier,” comes a growl from a sparsely clothed Geralt.

A mock offended gasp, “Take me to dinner first, mister! I know that’s not how you treat a lady! Honestly, the disrespect.”

A long suffering sigh, “Your clothes are wet and it’s cold outside. You’ll freeze and die if you leave them on.” A pause. “Please, Jaskier.”

Stunned by the pleading, Jaskier looks at his ensemble and cringes as what lies underneath. All of those scars under the exquisite fabrics he loved to wear were his dirty little secret, and Jaskier feared Geralt’s reaction should he see them. It seems like an easy decision; Leave them on and get hypothermia and die, OR take them off and reveal the parts of himself that Jaskier had worked so hard to conceal these past few years. 

With a sigh, he began to slowly peel off his boots and socks. He hesitated greatly at the hem of his tunic, the only thing between his past and the man he was so desperately in love with. Looking over at Geralt, Jaskier pleaded with his eyes for this small privacy. He got the message and turned away in a merciful gesture. 

Finally, eyes closed, Jaskier removes his tunic gingerly, feeling the stretch of long healed scars. If he were to look, there were deep gashes criss-cross across his back that served to remind him forever of his failings. Moving around, he could feel the breaks in his ribs that never healed quite right, and the cuts that flayed skin all along his torso. He won’t look, won’t open his eyes. All he can hear is: ugly, ugly failure.

There is a similar process with the pants as well. Cuts, puncture wounds, burns, horror. Jaskier is looking everywhere but at himself, he can’t handle confronting this, hasn’t been able to handle it for years. 

Finally, when he raises his impossibly blue eyes, they are met by curious, yellow ones. A peaked eyebrow is directed towards him. He has no idea what to say, what to do. As such, Jaskier tensed immensely when Geralt left his respective log to come and sit gently next to him. He’d never seen Geralt with such a soft expression, and it hurt his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me, I’d understand if you didn’t. But, fuck Jaskier, who hurt you?” One witcher hand cups his cheek, eyes pleading for the truth. 

Jaskier closed his eyes and took three very deep breaths to steady himself. Maybe this was finally the time for some closure, to confess. Either way, he was prepared to bare his soul because it's Geralt and he could never say no to him.

Raising a shaky hand, Jaskier bares himself to Geralt, who takes the arm in hand with heartbreaking gentleness. 

There are many scars to identify. From the cuts on his hands from either lute playing or paper cuts, up his arms where there are random slashes that were far too deep to be anything but deliberate. Hands migrate to his collarbone where a break never healed straight and Jaskier winces everytime he moves his shoulders because of it. The same thing for the mal-healed ribs that poked out just a bit more than the rest.

Jaskier watches Geralt’s face like his life depended on it, because maybe it did. Geralt was the love of his life, not that he’d ever tell him that, and if he rejected Jaskier’s body...he’s not quite sure what he’d do. 

Unaware of the internal conflict Jaskier is facing, or ignoring it, Geralt trails his hands down Jaskier’s legs, ignoring the hitch in his breath as his hands move lower. The wounds are less severe here, but even Geralt, a man bred for violence, cannot fathom what ruinous being could ever do this to someone as kind, beautiful, and compassionate as Jaskier.

It’s the worst when he guides Jaskier to turn around so his back faces Geralt, whose eyes immediately settle on the horrifying lashes that cross each other in angry scarred skin all across his back. It’s harrowing.

They sit in silence for a while. Jaskier breaks it, “My father had quite high expectations of me and quite a temper about him. I did everything right… All I ever did was try and make him proud, and all he ever did was beat and berate me. He was a cruel, cruel man and I wish I could go back and make things right, but that's not an option, Geralt. It’s been a harsh life. But I had music, and now… I have you.”

Geralt stands and returns to Jaskier’s side, who will not make eye contact with him. He gently nudges Jaskier’s chin to look at him, trying to show all the emotions he was feeling on his face; love, adoration, respect. While it is not easy for witchers to break through their emotional barriers, Geralt did not hesitate to show Jaskier the vulnerable side of him.

“I know I’m not good with words… but I’m fed up with hiding my feelings. You’re the only one Jaskier. I… Fuck, uh… I really love you Jaskier. I want you to know I will never, EVER, let anyone harm a hair on your head ever again. You have my solemn oath.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and his thoughts are going a million miles a minute but the world stops spinning when he looks back into those yellow eyes and says, “I love you too, Geralt.”

Gently, so gently, Geralt cups Jaskier’s face and kisses him like he’s a drowning man in an ocean. They sink to the ground and Geralt covers them in blankets and furs, and he holds Jaskier through the night.

Maybe it doesn’t fix the past, Jaskier still has a long road ahead. But he’s got someone to walk it with him, now.


End file.
